


No More disappearing

by Destielixer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destielixer/pseuds/Destielixer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach. After Sherlock's death, John struggles to cope with reality. Plagued by his constant flashbacks of Sherlock, John is on the brink of losing it. Until he receives a gift one day, a gift that has him questioning Sherlock's death and a surprise on Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More disappearing

**Author's Note:**

> The characters do not belong to me. The idea about the text belongs to a series of pictures that someone drew, I've forgotten who it was so please if it is yours do tell me so that i might credit you! The story is purely fanmade for the fans :)

_Separated by a tall wrought iron gate, hands awkwardly held between the bars at the top, they faced each other, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. John grasped onto Sherlock by the front of his clothes with his free hand, “Sherlock we’re going to need to cooperate, you hear me?” he asked, looking into his friend’s blue-grey eyes, a surge of pain coursing through his heart when he saw the hidden fear in them. With help from Sherlock he climbed over the iron gate jumping down onto the other side._

_“John take my hand, we’ve got to run, c’mon now,” he said._

_John stared from their hands, cuffed together then up into Sherlock’s face, “Are you suggesting…” he started, he’d meant it as a joke._

_“No time John, let’s go!” Sherlock took a firm grip on John’s hand, their fingers locked together tightly as they ran through the alleyways of, the police of Lestrade’s division hot on their heels. Yet for some queer reason, John found himself smiling, heart filled with warmth and fondness for the detective before him._

_“Your hostage? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that Sherlock?” he asked as they wound their way past trashcans and puddles of water._

_Sherlock shrugged, “Improvisation John, besides the notion isn’t too bad.”_

_John laughed at that, the hidden meaning behind the words making him tingle with excitement. How could he not trust this man? Whatever the Scotland Yard had said about Sherlock being a fraud, they were wrong. He wouldn’t believe in it, not for a second. Sherlock was a genius, it wasn’t a lie. He’d never in his whole live met a man quite so extraordinary as Sherlock Holmes. Never._

_“It’s got to be something that Moriarty did. But what? What is it?!?!” Sherlock growled as they stopped in the doorway of a house, panting after their run._

_“Sherlock whatever it is, I want you to know that I believe you,” John murmured, their hands still entwined together._

_Sherlock smiled at him yet John could see the fear and uncertainty in his partner’s eyes, something very uncharacteristic of the detective._

_Then the scene fades and he’s in a cab, racing back to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, the last place he’d seen Sherlock. As he steps out of the cab, his phone rings, he checks the caller ID, it’s him._

_“Sherlock? Sherlock where are you? I’m coming up to get you okay?” John said, panicking as he waited for the light to cross the road, he fears for Sherlock’s life._

_“No. John, no.”_

_“No? What? Where the hell are you Sherlock?”_

_“Stay where you are John. Now…look up.”_

_“What?” John asked, was this a joke? John lift’s his head, eyes scanning the buildings before he spots Sherlock on the edge of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, a cold sense of foreboding hit him, “Jesus! Sherlock, I’m coming to-“_

_“No John, you stay where you are and you listen to me okay?”_

_“O-Okay…j-just don’t do anything stupid Sherlock,” John whispered, staring up at Sherlock still on the ledge._

_“You know everything I’ve told you? They’re right John, it’s all a lie. I created Moriarty. I crafted out all those crimes to make myself look good. I-“_

_“Sherlock shut up! Shut up! Remember? The first time we met? You knew about my sister. You’re not what they say you are. I know you Sherlock. You’re so much better than that.”_

_“That was a lie too John I read up about it, about you. I wanted to impress you, so I researched you on the internet. I’m a fraud…I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson. I want you to tell Mycroft. Tell Lestrade, John tell anyone that will listen to you. Tell them.”_

_No John knew he had to keep him talking, at least prolong Sherlock’s life until he could finally see the stupidity of this and come back down._

_“Sherlock don’t. Please god, don’t do this! We can work it out Sherlock, we can talk it over.”_

_There was a sad, bitter laughter on the other end of the line before the voice spoke again, “This is a note John, I’m leaving a note and this is it. Don’t…normal people always leave notes?”_

_John froze he knew what came next, “Notes? For what? Sherlock you don’t-“ he was cut off_

_“Goodbye John.”_

_Then the line was dead._

_“Sherlock!” he screamed body frozen in a state of shock as he saw Sherlock’s body plunge down the side of the building and then the sickening crunch._

_His heart had stopped._

_~_

John bolted up in bed, the sound of thunder coinciding with the nightmare. He was panting still afraid of those fears from long ago, he ran a hand through golden brown hair, sticky with perspiration as he tried to calm his breathing. It had happened again those nightmares of Sherlock. All it did was remind him more of that man.

John’s breathing had finally stabilized and he stared out the window of his apartment, the raindrops splattering on the window like tears. He reached for his phone, pressing the button as soft light illuminated his face, the time was 4.56am, February 12th.

It had been what? Almost two whole years since Sherlock’s death, ever since then, John had moved back to his old apartment. Alone. Sitting in 221B Baker Street was not a good idea, there were too many things there that reminded him of Sherlock. In fact every little thing he saw seemed to remind him of that man. John sighed getting out of bed, he took hold of the cane and limped over to the desk, sitting himself down before he took out his laptop from the drawer. His psychosomatic limp had returned ever since Sherlock’s death and John wondered for awhile if Sherlock’s presence had helped him heal from the Afghanistan war.

He set the laptop down, switching it on, his eyes catching a glimpse of the key to the 221B apartment in the bottom of the drawer. John closed his eyes for a moment, remembering when he’d stood at Sherlock’s grave.

“Please Sherlock, please. I need you to do something for me. Please don’t be dead. Please.”

He’d been such a fool to believe that Sherlock would have faked his death. He was a genius, a master detective, not a magician. John slammed the desk drawer shut, focusing on the laptop now, the cursor clicking on the internet icon on the desktop. It opened to the homepage that was his blog. The last entry had been about Sherlock’s fame as the Reichenbach Hero and there was Sherlock in the picture, giving him a sideways glance as a hint of a grin played on his lips. Cheeky. As always.

John gave in to temptation, scrolling down the blog that complied all the cases that they’d gone through together, each entry accompanied with photos. Mainly of Sherlock. By the time he’d gotten to the last post, of when he’d first met Sherlock, he couldn’t help the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks and the way his heart ached so badly.

“Sherlock why? Why do you have to be so selfish and do this to me?” John whispered, his finger reaching to the screen and brushing across the pixilated photo of Sherlock on his blog. He needed to do something, anything that would take his mind off of Sherlock.

John took a shower, ate a quick breakfast, without tea and dressed up. It was a Saturday today so he decided to head down to the office clear up some paperwork then maybe go to the grocery store. He headed to his office in downtown London, he’d taken up a job again as a doctor after Sherlock’s death and he was doing rather well.

It at least kept him distracted most of the time and took his mind off Sherlock. It also kept him far away from those bastards he hated. Sergeant Sally Donovan for being number one at condemning Sherlock, followed by Greg Lestrade whom he’d thought would at least believe in Sherlock to the end, but apparently it hadn’t been. Then there was Mycroft Holmes, oh he didn’t even want to think about that one.

~

At around 1.30 that afternoon he left work, looking for a place to eat at before he went to buy groceries. He needed to avoid the places that he and Sherlock had eaten together at. John was walking around the corner of a street when he heard a familiar old voice calling, “John! John is that you?” he stopped at the voice and turning he saw Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. He’d not seen her since that day at the grave. He plastered on the smile that he had mastered so well.

“Mrs. Hudson! Hello!” he said, hugging the small old lady to him.

“Oh John, I haven’t see you in so long How’ve you been? Working hard I bet? You’ve grown so thin. Have you been eating well?” she fussed over him like a mother hen and John smiled.

“I’m fine Mrs. Hudson, the clinic brings in interesting people from time to time. I’m eating well don’t worry. I’m fine, on a diet you can say,” he murmured avoiding the topic.

“Your bad leg’s returned too huh?”

John nodded, “I haven’t been taking care of it that much.”

“Oh if only Sherlock were still here you would be fine, after being with the one you love for so long you get so used to them.”

“It wasn’t like that me and him. We weren’t…” John began _‘in love,’_ he thought finishing the sentence.

“Come now it’s alright to feel like that, but you’ll need to let it heal John. How about some lunch if you haven’t eaten hmm? I could cook you something.”

“No. I couldn’t Mrs. Hudson,” he said using the pretence of being polite to cover up the fact that he truly didn’t want to go back to the place and be reminded.

“It’s not big deal, besides I’ve something addressed to you. It came quite awhile back in the mail and I forgot to pass it to you. I didn’t know where you lived after you moved. So I kept it first.”

At that, John became curious, “Alright, I’ll go then, but just for awhile.”

“Just awhile then,” Mrs. Hudson repeated.

~

They came up Baker Street together and John saw the familiar black oak door with the golden lettering ‘221B’ on the front door. So many times he’d walked, run, dashed in and out of those doors since meeting Sherlock for the first time as a potential flat mate.

_“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon,” he’s said winking before he left to get his riding crop from the mortuary, leaving John standing in the lab staring after him in wonder._

_The next day he’d turned up at the address, stood at the door and knocked only to be surprised with a “Hello,” coming from Sherlock as he stepped off a cab on the side of the street._

_“Mr. Holmes,” John had said, not expecting this._

_“Just Sherlock will do.”_

_“Sherlock,” he’d said, shaking hands with the other, smiling._

_It was the beginning of an almost impossible friendship._

“John? Come in John,” Mrs. Hudson’s voice woke him from his reverie and he stepped into the house, nothing had changed. Time had stood still in this hallway. Untouched. John almost ached to run up the seventeen steps to find Sherlock in their apartment, carrying out another absurd experiment but this was reality, Sherlock wouldn’t be there.

“The parcel’s up in your apartment John, I left it there just in case you might go back.”

“Oh. Thank you. Who’s it from?”

Mrs. Hudson shrugged, “I found it in the mail, it was addressed to you. I thought you might know.”

“Mmm…I see. I’ll go check on it.”

John slowly headed up the stairs, lost in thought. It was painful when he knew that the one who’d stabbed you in the back was your own brother. Mycroft had told Moriarty all of Sherlock’s secrets…but…he wasn’t to blame was he? It was for the good of protecting himself, his company, he could sacrifice his brother because he meant nothing. John knew how Mycroft had felt after learning the news, he lived in remorse, sorry for his deeds.

He reached the landing, the door to the apartment facing him, he pushed the door open, the room had still been well taken care of as though someone still lived in it. John wondered if Mrs. Hudson, so out of habit had cleaned the room everyday by herself. Apart from the lack of dust, everything had been left exactly as it was the night on which Lestrade and the Yard had come to arrest Sherlock. John found himself smiling as he replayed the moment in his mind.

_“What now you’re joining me?” Sherlock had asked, a slight smile on his lips._

_“I didn’t know punching a senior officer would have gotten me arrested,” he’d countered and they’d both stood there, held against the side of a police car, handcuffed together, laughing for a moment as though there was not a care in the world._

“John, food’s here,” Mrs. Hudson said, setting it down on the coffee table, “I kept this place clean. Dusted it every day I did. Just in case.”

“Thank you.” John murmured, sitting down on the couch just beneath the yellow smiley face that served as Sherlock’s target practice when he was bored. His thinking couch…John smiled, heart clenching at more memories that began to stir as he sat there.

“Here’s the thing that came for you,” Mrs. Hudson smiled, handing him a bright pink heart shaped box with ribbons and a little tag.

“Can’t possibly be…” he said taking in the shape of the box, he turned over the tag, looking at the lettering cut from magazines to form a name, ‘John’, “for me…”

He lifted the cover and sitting amongst the pink tissue wrapping was a pink phone, “Is this a joke?” he muttered, it resembled the phone from A Study in Pink case as he’d named it. It was a bloody sick joke if it were. He switched on the iphone, the apple logo showing as he waited taking a bite of the lunch that Mrs. Hudson had prepared. She’d already left the room so John had no chance to clarify with her who the sender was. The phone finally loaded and John set it down on the table, quickly eating a few more bites of the lunch, keeping his eyes on the screen. Then there came the flooding of the chiming message tone.

“Messages?” he whispered, as he set down the food and picked up the gadget. Sliding the icon, of the message app, it opened. John was surprised there wasn’t any passcode locks in place. His eyes caught the words of the messages, in the grey text bubbles, one by one he read through them.

‘I saw you at the bus stop today. –SH’

‘Did Mrs. Hudson clear my room? –SH’

‘I see you finally got a job. Congratulations John. –SH’

‘Lonely dinner? –SH’

‘Still nothing updated on your blog. –SH’

‘That brand is not good, don’t buy it. –SH’

‘I miss your tea. –SH’

‘I miss you and your complaining horribly. –SH’

‘I wish I could talk to you John. –SH’

‘Do you miss me? –SH’

At this, the tears that John had been holding back for so long began to fall, slowly coursing down his cheeks, “Of course I miss you, you bloody stupid bloke. I miss you so so much…” he sniffled, wiping away the tears as he continued to read the remaining messages.

‘Still missing you horribly. –SH’

‘There are so many things that I should have said to you before… -SH’

‘Sorry. –SH’

‘I miss you. –SH’

‘I need you. –SH’

‘I love you. –SH’

John couldn’t help it as he curled up on the couch his tears falling freely now, the sound of his sobs filling the empty apartment. He realized how he felt, how he truly felt, he’d come to terms with it and he knew he finally knew what it was but it was too late. Sherlock was gone. “Sherlock…I miss you…I love you…please for god’s sake, please come back to me. Please. Let this be a dream, let me wake up and see you again. Please. Please,” he chanted, holding the phone close to his heart as he lay there, letting his feelings consume him whole before sleep claimed his tired body.

~

_“Sherlock, where are you? You have to help me. I-I’m stuck in the basement, you know the one we were in before? There’s something in here with me Sherlock I think it’s the hound. I can hear it Sherlock…I can hear it!” John rasped into the phone, fear holding him a fierce grip._

_“Shh, Alright, stay where you are John. I’m coming to get you.”_

_“Hurry Sherlock. Please hurry,” he whispered, shutting the phone as he pressed further back into the recesses of the cage that he was in, heart pounding as he waited for Sherlock to come._

_“John! John!” the voice called him and the gates were pulled open, the lights once more illuminating the room._

_“Thank god,” John had said, he was so relieved when he’d gotten out of the cage he’d hugged Sherlock and clung on to him for what must’ve been quite awhile._

_~_

The soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the face of the sleeping man as he opened his eyes, the dream fading from his mind. _‘No. No. Not reality…’ he thought. John looked to the pink phone that lay on the coffee table. He’d kept it close to him, how had it gotten there? Furthermore he’d slept off the whole of yesterday! John reached for the phone, needing to see that message again,_ ‘I love you. –SH’ the message stared back at him.

If Sherlock had been texting on this phone, then he had to be alive! All the dates were after his death. He had to be alive! There could be no reason otherwise. Right? So John began to compose a text message back.

‘Sherlock, I’m sorry that I didn’t reply you earlier. I just got the phone. I miss you terribly Sherlock. If you’re alive please, please come back. I’m at our apartment Sherlock. I need you to come home, come back to me. I…love you. –JW’

John hesitated before sending the message, Sherlock was after all, in actual fact dead. Then there would be no harm would there? Dead men didn’t reply texts! He gulped, then pressed send, watching as the line loaded to send. It was taking awhile…almost as if testing him, to see if he would cancel the text. He stood, untangling himself from the blankets on the couch, heading down to Mrs. Hudson’s apartment.

“Good morning,” she said, a smile on her face as she greeted him.

“Morning. Did you…put the phone on the table and…the blanket?” John asked.

“The phone fell out of your hand John and late last night it had begun to rain I thought you might’ve been cold.”

He felt sad at that. What had he been thinking? Had he hoped otherwise? That it might have been Sherlock? “Oh, thank you Mrs. Hudson. I’m heading down to the cemetery…I thought I’d go and…visit Sherlock today,” John said, he needed answers.

~

Sherlock cocked his head up at the sound of boots crunching on grass. Someone was coming this way. Who? Then he spotted the familiar golden brown color of hair, ‘Watson?’ A smirk played across his lips as the doctor approached, his face sullen, drawn, hands in the pockets of his chocolate brown leather jacket. Sherlock climbed further up the branches of the tree, watching as John stopped before his grave and laid flowers down. Probably picked out by Mrs. Hudson, he concluded seeing the exact same flowers, red roses and lavenders, which she had used to decorate the house back at home.

“Hey Sherlock…I know this is kinda stupid okay…I mean I don’t know if your spirit or whatever is around to hear me. I…got your texts on this phone,” John was saying taking the pink phone out from his pocket and showing it to the grave stone. Sherlock smiled up in the tree, sweet John and his simple ways, it touched his cold heart. “See, you texted me. I don’t know what this means alright? But if it’s really you…if you’re really alive then…please just come out already. It hurts waiting, yes I’m still waiting for you okay. I don’t know if you’ve got my text or something and if you’ve read it. If you’re alive that is…”

Sherlock looked to his phone, ‘One new text message’. John had sent him something.

“This is so stupid…” he heard John whisper, seeing as he closed his eyes, the man was on the verge of tears as he walked away and Sherlock couldn’t resist it.

‘John, don’t cry. –SH’

~

John gasped at the text. Sherlock had to be alive and he had to be watching if he knew. But from where? And how? He scanned the cemetery. It was empty. There was no one, nothing. Nothing but graves and grass. He paused then, replying the text, ‘Where are you Sherlock? –JW’ and he waited and waited but no reply ever came. With a heavy heart, John headed back home.

Back at 221B it was just about lunch time, John found himself alone. Mrs. Hudson having gone out, he headed up to his apartment and sat back down on the couch, Sherlock’s bed as it were. He needed to get to the bottom of this. If Sherlock really was alive and texting him, why wouldn’t he show himself? Why didn’t he reply? There had to be some reason for that but John had no clue at all. He pushed off the couch, going into the kitchenette and making up some lunch for himself, he turned on the television, flipping through the channels, there was nothing nice.

He remembered the early days just after Sherlock’s death, the television had been full of reports. People from the news centers had asked him for interviews and his comments but he’d turned all of them down, saying he had no comment. He leaned his head back on the plush cushions, closing his eyes.

_“You have to keep a low profile from now on Sherlock start with the small cases again, the press will be off you back soon.”_

_“Are you jealous?” Sherlock asked._

_“What? No. I’m…I’m worried for you. You know the press can backstab you with vile opnions that that form.”_

_“What do I care? They can’t harm me,” Sherlock said with a shrug._

_“Well think of others who read it. They’ll lose faith in you…”_

_“You mean you? Their opinions of me hurt you John.”_

_“Well of course they do! You’re my friend!”_

_“Will you lose faith in me John?” Sherlock turned to him fixing him with his deep blue gaze._

_John shook his head. “No. I won’t. I’ll never lose faith in you. I believe in you Sherlock.”_

_Sherlock smiled, “Good.”_

John opened his eyes the image of Sherlock smiling slowly fading as he was cruelly thrown back into reality. The television was still on, blaring away. He switched it off, standing as he cleared his plate, washing up. He set the things back in place. Grabbed the phone off the table, checking for messages, there was nothing, no reply. John seriously wanted to bash something up, let all his pent up energy out. Instead he reined in the feelings, took a piece of paper, left a note for Mrs. Hudson and then left the apartment.

As dinner drew near, John found himself at Angelo’s eating dinner in the window seat alone as he stared out at the road. The first time he’d been here with Sherlock, Angelo had thought they were a couple and offered to light a candle for their candle light dinner date. John found himself longing for that love between him and Sherlock. If Sherlock were still here that is. After the dinner, he headed back to his own place, maybe he should catch a good night’s sleep and come tomorrow things would have changed. He wouldn’t be moping around for Sherlock. He would put that all away once and for all and move on.

~

Loud constant knocks woke John from his sleep, he sat up in bed, reaching for the phone to check the time, he was surprised to see one message there, dated, February 14th 12.06am. ‘Happy Valentine’s day John. Why don’t you open the door for me? –SH’ John bolted out of bed, still barely dressed in just his shirt and long pants, rushing to the door which he pulled open, his heart stopping at the sight before him.

Standing there, was Sherlock Holmes. Dressed as per the usual, hair in slight disarray. “A-are…you…” he began, reaching a hand out to take Sherlock’s hand when the other offered it, staring in to the detective’s blue-grey eyes, his heart skipped a beat, upon feeling the warmth in those fingers, that now, twined with his, he gulped, tears pricking his eyes. “Sherlock…” he whispered.

“Hello John. Happy Valentine’s day,” he heard Sherlock whisper, the deep velvety voice serving as confirmation to John as the other held out a bouquet of roses to him.

“You’re really here aren’t you. You’re not going to fade or disappear…” John said, taking the flowers from Sherlock, leading the other into his little apartment.

“We could test it out,” Sherlock said, seeing the event still shocked John, yet the limp had disappeared once more. “Your leg’s fine again. Is it me or am I the one that always seems to make that leg of yours better?” he asked leaning against the wall, watching John, put the flowers in a jar, acting normal while he was actually bursting with questions and overwhelming emotions.

Sherlock grabbed the shorter man, stopping him in his tracks and turned him around to face him, “John, stop. Look at me. I’m really here okay. I’m here, I’m real,” he said and found himself doing something uncharacteristic of himself, he pulled John into a hug, stroking his back as he felt John shaking, crying against his chest.

“I’m so sorry John. I’m so sorry…”

John pulled away now, “That wasn’t a joke Sherlock, if it is its not freaking funny! You died. I saw it, I saw you there, on the pavement…the blood! You had no pulse!” John found himself yelling, his months of pain and sorrow flowing out, “Was that one of your bloody experiments again Sherlock? Because it was the damnest most stupid one I’ve ever seen! Killing yourself a-and coming back just like that. What were you thinking? What if I threw you out now and told you I never want to see you again?!?”

“John, let me explain, I can explain,” Sherlock murmured, not knowing how to curb John’s anger he had never seen his partner this riled up before. “I gave up everything I had to destroy Moriarty. My name, my reputation, you, everything John I had to give everything and I did it, I beat Moriarty.”

“Do you think this is a game Sherlock!” John growled, striking the other with a punch, “Why couldn’t you tell me? Didn’t you trust me?” John asked looking up to Sherlock who was holding his jaw.

“I did, I trusted you with my life John…that’s the problem…”

John shook his head, taking a deep breath to calm himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “How’d you find me? How’d you know I’d be here tonight and why Valentine’s?”

“That’s simple you see I-” Sherlock was cut off when he felt John’s hands on either side of his face, the other’s soft lips pressed to his in a kiss. His first. “Okay…” he whispered, when John pulled back, a light blush on his cheeks. “I didn’t see that coming…”

“I don’t care,” John whispered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, as he rested his head on the crook of the detective’s shoulder. “I don’t care about whatever it is that you did to get rid of Moriarty or whatever and you can fucking deal with it. It’s your damn fault for making me fall for you then you go and take yourself away like that…”

“I’m so sorry…I…I didn’t think like that back then…but after I saw you…it…you got to me...I…realized that I loved you, that’s why Valentine’s…”Sherlock said, holding John close to him, making up for all that time lost when he could only watch from afar and not do a thing.

“Sherlock, don’t you ever do that again. Never, alright? Never. I don’t ever want you to disappear like that again,” John whispered as Sherlock wiped his tears away, nodding.

“I promise,” Sherlock whispered, looking lovingly into John’s eyes, “No more disappearing,” he said as he leaned in, his finger on John’s chin, tilting the other’s face up to meet his as their lips met in a soft chaste kiss.

John tiptoed, pressing himself up against Sherlock, deepening the kiss as he put all his love all his feelings into that kiss, he wanted to make Sherlock understand him. He let his fingers tangle in the soft dark ebony hair as he lost himself in the feel of his lover’s mouth, before pulling away, panting, their foreheads resting against one another’s, noses slightly brushing.

“No more disappearing,” he whispered, smiling before he pulled Sherlock into another kiss.


End file.
